The End
by luna8
Summary: *Complete* If I were Ridley Scott...
1. The End

Here we go again! I finally got to watch the DVD of Hannibal with the alternate ending – whew!!! Why didn't they use that take eh? No handcuffs – which I kinda liked, but he also got away with all his appendages intact. All this got me thinking about how I would have ended the film, so….

Add the usual – they're not mine so don't sue, and I'm not sharing my Easter chocolate either!

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"I came half way around the world to watch you run, let me run hmm?" he suggested after he dropped the broken handle on top of refrigerator. His head tilted towards her as he inhaled, almost as if he couldn't help himself. He moved back to gaze at her face, as a man gazes at home after a long absence.

"Would you ever say to me 'stop – if you loved me you'd stop'?" his question was warm and sultry against her flushed cheeks. Clarice was pinned against the refrigerator with her hair clamped in the door. She felt trapped and so she did what came naturally; she defended herself,

"Not in a thousand years."

"Not in a thousand years, eh?" the quirk in his eyebrow was somewhere between hurt and impressed. Then suddenly he lunged towards her face with his teeth bared, but she didn't flinch. He was Hannibal Lecter, Hannibal of Cannibal fame, who had just sautéed a living man's frontal lobes, but they had both acknowledged long ago that he would never hurt her. He leaned back again to whisper,

"That's my girl." Then his mouth descended on hers in a passionate kiss. She, however, kept her mouth firmly closed. When he heard the snick of the handcuffs, he opened one eye but continued the kiss and then moved around to nuzzle her cheek with his nose. One last breath of her essence that he tried to hold in his soul. The he stepped back and held up his shackled left hand for inspection. The look on his face, as he gazed at their linked wrists, was that of an adult trying to identify the subject of a small child's drawing.

"That's very interesting, but I'm really pressed for time," he stated as her ears picked up the first whines of the approaching sirens. "Where's the key Clarice?" he asked calmly, and when she refused to answer, he roughly pinned her shoulders to the fridge and repeated himself more forcefully. She winced as the stitches pulled in her shoulder, but otherwise made no sign of response to his inquiry. He held her eyes trapped in his gaze, once again trying to fathom her secrets. The eyes are called the window to the soul for a reason. He had never had a finer view. 

A soft hum came from his throat as he took another step back to rake her trembling form with his piercing cobalt eyes. She felt as naked as if he'd lifted a hand to the neckline of her dress and ripped it from her body. Dr. Lecter was never that rash; not when there was a subtler path in sight. He stepped close again – intimately close. The words he breathed in her ear caused her trembles to increase to shivers,

"I could do a lot of damage in the time it will take them to reach us." What exactly he was referring to she was unsure, but she knew it was something infinitely more harmful than physical damage. He suddenly bent down and removed her shoes, caressing the soles of her feet as he did so. She had to stand on tiptoes to relieve the pull of the fridge door on her hair. His hands moved up her calves and over her knees. He stopped with the tips of his fingers just under the hem of her dress, and glanced up at her with a smile of pure deviltry. She would remember that moment for the rest of her life. A small chuckle and he smoothed the fabric over top of her thighs, smoothly rising as he did so. His hands circled her waist, almost spanning it, before moving down to caress her hips and buttocks. He didn't linger, but stroked her bare back, bringing a wave of warmth after the cold of the metal door. She did nothing to stop him as his touch moved to circle her throat and then up into her hair.

He brought his palms back down to her cheeks to hold her head in place as he smiled into her eyes.

"Sometimes, Clarice, silence is more telling than words," he informed her before his lips once again smothered hers. This time, however, the kiss was punishing, as if he were venting his disappointment in the situation. He forced her lips open and plundered the depths of her mouth with his tongue. When he finished and pulled back, her eyes were closed and he could tell that it was only because he was holding her that she remained upright. He waited till her eyes fluttered open, and he once again commanded her gaze with his, before he smiled again and removed the small key from between his lips. He savoured the resignation and disappointment in her eyes. Two quick twists and they were both free of the metal links, which he then tossed into the next room.

"Bye," was all he said as he walked out the door.

Clarice sagged against the fridge but the pull on her hair brought her up sharply. She reached over her shoulder and grabbed the door handle. It took her a moment to fit it back in place and then she was free. She massaged the back of her head as she stumbled out the door after him. She could see a small boat moving out on the bay through the trees. She managed to get far enough to see that it was empty before the police ordered her to halt and identify herself. Her voice was surprisingly clear as she shouted,

"Clarice Starling, F.B.I."

On the other side of the house a young rookie cop heard her and smiled. Clarice Starling and Hannibal the Cannibal! This was the kind of action he had been looking for when he'd decided to become a cop. So far, his career had been dead boring, but imagine if he managed to apprehend Hannibal the Cannibal. He was so busy fantasizing about the fame and fortune that would go along with such a capture that he didn't notice the second shadow he'd acquired in the trees. It was child's play for Dr. Lecter to sneak up on him with a chloroformed rag. His original escape route was put out of commission with the arrival of the police, but the doctor was always ready to take advantage of a given situation. Under other circumstances he would have slit the kids throat, but that would made a mess of the uniform jacket that was his real objective, so the rookie got to live.

Dr. Lecter settled the kid's cap low on his head and then threw his dinner jacket over the boy's head and white shirt to better camouflage the body. A fleeting smile as he wondered what Clarice would have to say on the subject of the lack of training new law officers were receiving these days. Perhaps he'd ask her in his next letter. Not that he was complaining, but it would be nice to have a real challenge. He ruefully suspected that there was only one law enforcement official who could actually challenge him, and she'd declined his offer. He settled the gun belt around his waist and then moved purposefully around the side of the house heading for the platoon of squad cars. The rookie would have a marked car, but which one? Would anyone notice if he took the wrong car? Probably not, but where was the kid's partner? That was a minor concern until he heard someone shout,

"Hey Caufield! Over here!" He glanced down at the nametag and read the name Caufield. Damn, the answer to his question was now fifty feet ahead of him, standing alongside Clarice who was clutching a gray blanket around her shoulders. DAMN! If anyone could pick him out of a crowd, she could. She was gazing out towards the bay, as he neared, not paying any attention to the cop beside her. The older cop shouted when they were still thirty feet apart,

"We need someone to get Miss. Starling and her car home. I wouldn't want you to get eaten by the Doctor so I volunteered you for the duty!" The man laughed at his own poor humor. Doctor Lecter shook his head to convey his sarcastic thanks to the man and then caught the Mustang's keys as the older cop turned to Clarice,

"My partner, Caufield here, will take you home Miss," he informed her, before he turned and headed back to the 'action'. Clarice was already heading for the garage where her Mustang was parked. Dr. Lecter followed behind her, and noticed that she still wasn't wearing any shoes. He might have to get her another pair he thought as he opened her door for her. She slipped into the seat and he closed the door. Why hadn't she said anything yet? Surely, she had noticed who was accompanying her. Perhaps she was giving him an answer to his earlier entreaty to let him run. He walked around the car and slid into the driver's seat. He turned the key in the ignition and smoothly put the car in gear.

The older cop smiled when he heard the squeal of tires, thinking it was just like his partner to try to impress a pretty girl.

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Clarice was grateful for the officer's silence as they drove. She was sure that he would be bursting with questions about what had happened, but maybe she intimidated him. He wouldn't be the first. He was a good driver and she found herself slowly relaxing. Normally she would never fall asleep in the presence of a guy. She hadn't felt safe enough around anyone to do that since her dad had died. She figured that it probably due to all the stress she'd been through in the last few days. She glanced down at his hand on the stick shift before her eyes fluttered closed. Her last thought was that he had nice, broad hands, but they reminded her of someone. She was to tired to grope for the answer, and let the thought go.

The man beside her smiled as he heard her breathing deepen in slumber.

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There you have it! Happy Easter! luna.


	2. The Sequel

At Last!! I got hit in the head with a flying plot – about time eh?

Add the usual – I'm not making any money from this even tho I could really use it.

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Something was making a funny noise.

It took Clarice a few moments to realize that it was the phone beside her bed. The answering machine picked up after the third ring and she could hear Agent Pearsall shouting at her,

"Starling, if you're there pick up! God dammit, pick up!" She glanced at the clock that read 5:26 am, before she grabbed the phone and mumbled a sleepy hello.

"Oh, Starling thank God! Is he still there? Are you all right?" Agent Pearsall asked in a rush. Clarice thought the line of questions was pretty funny. Everybody knew she didn't have a boyfriend. And why would Pearsall ask her if a guy was still here and _then_ ask her if she was all right? She shook her head in amusement, but then her eyes opened wide in remembrance of the past evening's festivities. Waking up in that house and then supper with Paul. She felt rather detached emotionally from those events. It wasn't until she remembered the confrontation in the kitchen that she had to take a deep breath to steady herself. They'd lost him again!

"I'm all right, sir," she replied.

"Is he still there, Starling?" Pearsall almost yelled at her.

"Who?" Clarice asked confused.

"LECTER!" At that point, the image of a man's hand, on the stick shift of her car, flashed in her memory. It had been HIM! Clarice's glance tore around the room, taking in the sight of _the_ dress hanging on the door of her closet, as she checked for any sign of immediate danger. She'd had him right beside her and she'd fallen asleep! Clarice let out a string of very colourful metaphors, as she jumped out of bed. She glanced down at the t-shirt and boxers she was wearing. He must have carried her in from the car, and put her to bed. Just like a little girl; just like her father had done – she'd fallen asleep in the car with Dr. Lecter!

"Starling…" Pearsall started to order, but was cut short with a very definitive, 

"Shut up!" Clarice began to check her house, room by room, shadow by shadow. Nothing was out of the ordinary until she reached the living room and found a pillow, stacked on top of a blanket, folded at one end of the couch. He'd slept on her fucking couch! The nerve of that man! Although she cracked a bit of a smile as she admitted to herself that it had probably been the safest place for him to spend the night. Particularly when she had been comatose in the bedroom. There would be time enough to chastise herself for that faux pas later. She still had to check the kitchen – his preferred domain. Just as she stepped into the kitchen, she realized that she didn't have a weapon. Adrenalin pumped, as panic hit. She let out a sigh of relief as she realized that there was no one there.

"The house is clear," she informed Pearsall over the phone she still had clutched to her ear.

"So, you realize just who drove you home last night," it was more of a statement than a question.

"Yes sir," she replied, knowing no explanation would be sufficient. They might have let her off if he'd just escaped at the lake. They might have believed her story, the truth, but not now, not ever again.

"You're suspended until the hearing, don't bother coming in to file a report, you can tell your story at the trial," with that he hung up. Clarice cursed again and turned the phone off. She stomped back to her bedroom, intending to try to get more than three hours sleep. In her huff, she didn't notice that the French door, to the patio, was open and slightly ajar.

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K, maybe that plot didn't hit me quite hard enough, cus I had to leave it there. Any suggestions as to what should be out there and why? Let me know – luna.


	3. Indoors

Yahoo!! I finished school, so now I can write all summer!!!

Add the usual "I borrowed them, don't hurt me!"

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Clarice stomped into her bedroom and slammed the door so hard it bounced open again. She ignored it and flopped down on her bed with a huff. It was all HIS fault! He had his fun, played his little games and then disappeared. Which left her to deal with the consequences. She risked her neck to get his sorry ass out of trouble and what does she get for her efforts? More shit! Not that his ass was that sorry. Actually when she thought about it, he had a pretty nice ass. She started to giggle. Here she was facing the loss of her career and perhaps criminal charges and what was she thinking about? Dr. Lecter's backside. She began to laugh in earnest.

You've had him rolling around in your head too long, she thought to herself. You've finally flipped! Her laughter calmed as she considered her probable insanity; nothing else could explain her recent actions. She'd rescued a sociopathic serial killer/cannibal from a horrible death at the hands of one of his victims. She watched him cut up her nemesis, and then kissed him after, in the kitchen. After loosing him in the forest, she'd fallen asleep with the man as he drove her home. Yup, insane, that was her story and she was sticking to it! Hey, it had worked for him. Maybe being crazy wasn't all that bad. He certainly seemed to have fun. She started to giggle again as she considered that driving herself nuts probably wasn't what he'd had in mind when he'd told her she needed to get more fun out of life.

She sighed and tried to make herself mad again, but she just couldn't. Despite the gravity of the situation she now found herself in, she didn't feel any significant sense of loss. She tried to think about the worst case scenario; she'd be fired and prosecuted as an accessory. As she considered that outcome she acknowledged that loosing her job was more than likely, but the FBI wouldn't want the press attention that a criminal trial would attract. She'd had more than her fair share of the spotlight over the years, and she doubted the disapproving higher-ups would want that harsh light shining on her and reflecting back on the FBI.

So, she was going to loose her job. She rolled over on her stomach as she flipped that idea around in her head. Again she felt no anger or sadness; if she was honest with herself, she felt resigned relief. It was like a bad marriage where the other spouse finally decided to call it quits. She hadn't wanted a divorce, but now that it was happening, she wasn't going to fight it. She'd fallen out of love with her work long ago. She groaned as she realized the origin of her analogy. He was always with her, through the good, the bad and the ugly. It drove her nuts, when she was conscious of her thoughts not being entirely her own, but it was also comforting. She remembered Crawford warning her that she didn't want him in her head. She didn't agree. Sometimes the only thing that kept her going during the day was the penetrating voice that made amusing and pointed remarks in the back of her head. If anyone else had been privy to some of the conversations she had with him in her head, her mental stability would have been called into question long ago. His comments about prospective boyfriends were always very funny, but they also kept her single. She wondered if she'd ever meet someone who measured up the doctor's impeccable standards. Now that she wasn't going to be an agent any longer, she briefly entertained thoughts of having a family, before pushing them away as irrelevant.

Dr. Lecter had gotten away again! Somehow, she wasn't entirely sorry. It troubled her that she'd fallen asleep in his presence, but not because it pointed to any lack in her training. It bothered her because it showed just how comfortable, even if only subconsciously, she was with the man. What that said about her personality she wasn't entirely sure. She snickered at the thought that his intangible presence in her head, for all these years, had let her be more comfortable with a serial killer than she was with any other person she knew.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a flicker of motion. She whipped her head around to see the door slowly being pushed open. She rolled to her feet in one swift motion and dropped into a defensive crouch. Surely to God, he hadn't come back!

He wouldn't stick around when everyone was looking for him – or would he?

Oh God, oh God, was all she could think as the door inched open. It took her confused mind a minute to realize that there was no one in the hall.

What the devil?

Then she glanced down to see a sleek gray cat hesitantly sniffing the air just inside the threshold. Her sigh of relief was audible as she straightened up and returned the feline's green gaze.

"Where'd you come from hmmm?" she asked, as the cat padded over to her and rubbed up against her leg. "You gave me quite a scare," she said as she picked the cat up and sat back down on her bed. She scratched the tabby under the chin eliciting a soft purr. "I thought you were… oh, never mind," she shook her head with a chuckle. She was starting to spook herself. There was no way he was anywhere within a hundred mile of here by now.

"I'm glad you find the situation so amusing, Clarice," said a voice from the doorway.

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Hehe…yah for rule number four!!! Luna.


	4. Turnabout

I think I should have quit at chpt. 1. Ah, well – slow but sure. When the high priestess begs/threatens there's really nothing you can do. This is in response to a dare I received (LadyofTruths !)… be careful what you wish for!

Add the usual – I'm a peon, don't hurt me!

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Clarice just sat and stared. In that moment, she was incapable of action or speech. Neither was needed as the figure in the doorway asked,

"What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?" He quirked his eyebrow in a gesture Clarice had become achingly familiar with. It was often the only sign that he has a sense of humor. A muffled mew startled Clarice out of her daze as she realized that she had been crushing the cat in her embrace. She placed the tabby back on the floor with an apologetic pat. Dr. Lecter was amused at her effort to pull herself together. From what he had overheard of her conversation with the cat, he surmised that at least part of her was expecting an appearance on his part. When she looked up again her features were masked and her voice was controlled when she asked,

"Dr. Lecter, what are you still doing here?" She was learning he thought to himself before he answered her question. Now she just needed to learn to shield her eyes. He could watch her thoughts bouncing around in those blue-gray orbs.

"I availed myself of your hospitality for the night," he replied purposely not answering her exact question. He savoured the flash of anger that crossed her face.

"I realize that," she said as she thought about how long it would take her to clear the bed and get to the shoebox underneath for the little handgun she kept there. "But why are you _still_ here?" she stressed as she wondered if he could get to her before she got to the gun. It was her only chance, as she feared the reason behind his continued stay. As far as she could tell there was only one scenario that would explain his continued presence and it didn't bode well for her continued state of good health. The spark of fear he saw in her eyes bothered him deeply, but he was more than ready for her as she surged to her feet. 

Two steps and he was at the edge of the bed. A sweep of his arm knocked her legs out from under her and she landed on her stomach in the middle of the bed. She rolled over on her back as Dr. Lecter brought a knee up on the mattress and pinned her squirming body down with his own. As they struggled together, she felt his hands on her thigh, and holding her hip. A heavy thigh over hers stopped her kicking. She felt his hands travel over her waist as he rolled more of his weight onto her. She connected a good punch to his shoulder, and he grunted as he moved to subdue her fists. His arm brushed against her breasts as he easily caught her wrists in his left hand and held them above her head. She arched her back in an effort to escape his grasp, but she was crushed against his solid chest. She collapsed back onto the mattress, her chest heaving from their tousle. He leaned on his right elbow to look down at her flushed face. She was truly a work of art. She closed her eyes and heaved a ragged sigh. He frowned at this show if fear and surrender. She needed to find her courage again and he could show her exactly where to look.

He leaned down so that his cheek brushed hers, his warm breath caressing her neck and ear. They were pressed together and he could feel the rise and fall of her breasts against his chest with every breath she took. He inhaled her scent deeply into his lungs and felt her responding shiver travel through her body. He could smell arousal on her, but that scent was as familiar to him as her perfume. The first time he had known its unique scent was when she had come back from the storage shed smelling like rain and woman. He had known then, that she was attracted to him, and it was rather ironic that he finally had her in bed with him, but under such strained circumstances. What truly bothered him was the scent of her fear. She had never been afraid of him, and although she was doing a marvelous job of hiding it, her scent gave her away. He wondered what had changed her feelings around him. Maybe it was being confronted with his presence in her home. She needed to find her rage.

"You've imagined us together like this, haven't you Clarice?" his rich voice whispered in her ear. He lifted his head as he felt every muscle in her body tense and caught the truth as her eyes snapped open. However, like she had the night before, she lied when she almost shouted,

"NO!" That's right, he thought, get mad at me. He quirked his eyebrow as he questioned, 

"No?" He made sure he held her gaze with his own as he confessed, "I know I have." She shut her eyes again like a child would who doesn't want to see the monster come out from under the bed. It was a little late for such tactics, he thought. He'd come out from "under her bed" years ago. He smiled at his analogy; there were so many delicious ways it could be interpreted. Her next comment shocked him and wiped the smile from his face.

"Was that before or after you killed me?" she asked.

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That would be a luna cliffie – without stopping in the middle of a sentence, as some of us have been know to do of late! How am I doing with that dare? Let me know, luna.


	5. Breakfast

I must confess I've chickened out again. I think the previous chapter is about as close as I'll ever get to an NC-17 rating. That stuff is actually hard to write. Ah, well… 

Add the usual – I'm only trying to follow the footprints.

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She felt his warm weight leave her and tensed in anticipation of the pain she was sure would come before the end. When nothing happened she opened her eyes to find him looking down on her. There was something undefinable in his cobalt gaze. His voice was low and sharp when he spoke,

"That was beneath you, Clarice."

"Yes," she hissed out on a breath that she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

"It seems you actually require an answer to your earlier question," he noted with some sarcasm. "I'm here because, at the moment, this is the safest place for me to be. The airports and stations will be crawling with officers of the law. I need to lay low for a few days until they think I've gotten away again and relax their guard. I was privy to your conversation with your boss, via the answering machine, so I know no one will be checking up on you for the next little while. That suits my purposes perfectly." He sounded like a cat as he purred the last word, watching her eyes for her reaction.

"And afterwards?" she asked. He smiled the same grin she had first seen down in the dungeon. She sucked in a breath as he elegantly shrugged, purposely leaving her to wonder. Again, her thoughts turned to the gun hidden under her bed.

"I see I'm going to have to do something about your wandering thoughts," he commented. Her gaze flew back to his. How did he know? He reached down and hauled her to her feet. Before she knew what was happening she felt cold steel at her wrist and heard the click as they were locked together. The feeling of déjà vu was staggering. She could see the amusement in his gaze before she glanced down at their linked wrists. Her right and his left. "What's the old saying Clarice? Keep your friends close and your enemies closer?" he asked as he entwined his fingers with her own. The gesture was unnervingly intimate, considering what had gone before.

At that moment, her stomach made itself known with a loud gurgle. Clarice closed her eyes and wondered how the moment could get any worse. She had her answer when she felt his warm breath on her ear and neck as he whispered,

"I apologize Clarice. I should have realized you probably haven't eaten since the night before last." She felt his hand squeeze hers and she opened her eyes in time to make her feet obey and follow him into the kitchen. She watched slightly dumbfounded as he maneuvered through her kitchen pulling out ingredients and utensils as if he'd been there hundreds of times before. She gasped when she realized he probably had been. He looked up and winked at her, and she realized her thoughts must be written all over her face. She took a deep breath to try to regain some control, but his chuckle destroyed her efforts as he tugged her over beside him. A few quick flicks of his wrist and her large kitchen knife had neatly halved four oranges. He nudged the glass juicer towards her indicating that she should squeeze them. He began to slice up ham, peppers, and mushrooms.

"Sure you don't want me to chop?" she asked. The only comment she received was a quirked eyebrow. "Didn't think so," she muttered.

"If you're a very good girl I might let you grate the cheese," he said without looking at her. "I don't think anyone can do to much damage with a cheese grater," he commented catching the gleam in her eyes. "On second thought," he frowned, breaking eggs into a bowl with one hand, as Clarice started in on the oranges. When he reached over to grasp the bowl in order to whisk the eggs, he pulled Clarice's wrist along too, causing her to send a squirt of orange juice over her cheek. Her low growl alerted him to the situation and the opportunity that it presented. However, Clarice was quicker and wiped the juice away with the dishrag. The doctor smiled, "You're learning," he praised as he turned back to beat the eggs. Clarice had to wait for him to finish before she could continue with the juicer. How long was he going to keep them locked together? She had just picked up an orange half when her wrist was jerked towards him again as he reached for the grater. She let out an impatient snort as grasped his wrist above the cuff. The feel of her cool, sticky fingers made him glance up at her questioning look. He shrugged and put his hand down on the counter next to her hip. She was acutely aware of his scrutiny as she finished juicing the oranges. When she was done, he proceeded to grate the cheese. 

Clarice realized she was very hungry and began to snitch bits of ham off the cutting board until the knife came down millimeters away from her fingertips. Her startled gaze met his scolding one and Crawford's warning from so long ago echoed in her mind. Never forget what he is. Clarice managed to keep her mind off her stomach by trying to figure out exactly what the man beside her was, but she was no closer to finding an answer when he pulled her to the table and told her to eat the omelet he put in front of her.

Her emotions were so conflicted. On one hand she fell asleep with him in the car, and on the other she feared for her life. Nothing was simple around this man. There was no black and white, and she was tired of trying to see through a world of gray. She shook her head and started to eat. She breathed her delight in a small moan. He really was an excellent cook. She looked up at him sitting across from her, his arm stretched across the table so she could use her right hand to eat. She glanced up several times only to find him engrossed in his meal.

Dr. Lecter was unsure what was more pleasing, the opportunity to share a quiet meal with Clarice, or watching her trying to sort out her conflicting emotions. He'd love to help her with the latter, but suspected that she wouldn't appreciate any offer of assistance on his part. The fear she had exhibited earlier still bothered him. He realized her offensive comment was said merely to bring about a hasty conclusion to their struggle. He was trying to make her mad, and she had attempted the same thing. He found her unique motivations fascinating and suspected he would grant her more space to express them than he would anyone else in the world. Her insecurity around him still needed to be addressed. He was pondering this problem when his keen sense of hearing caught the sound of something outside on the patio. His head snapped up and his nostrils flared trying to catch some hint of whom or what was out there.

Clarice was immediately aware of the change in her companion. She tilted her head in an effort to hear what he had heard. When she finally caught a faint sound outside her patio door, her breath caught in her chest. It was a sound she knew only too well.

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I know I'm horrible, but I'm afraid it would shock you all into a heart attack if I didn't end with a cliffie. Wouldn't want to be the cause of some poor reviewer's death now would I? Luna.


	6. Shattered glass

Warning – this went in a really different direction than intended, but I think it's good. Let me know!

Add the usual – not mine, not making any money, you really wouldn't want to know me in private life.

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For an FBI agent there is no more distinctive sound, than the safety being clicked off a gun. Clarice knew, the minute she heard it, that there was going to be trouble. She and Dr. Lecter rose simultaneously from the breakfast table. Hours seemed to pass, when in fact it was only a couple of heart beats, before the patio door burst open, sending shattered glass skittering across the floor. Men in black SWAT team gear swarmed into the kitchen. Neither Dr. Lecter nor Clarice moved as ten automatic machine guns were trained on them. Clarice watched as Pearsall and another agent stepped through the doorway; she wondered briefly if she was still in bed dreaming.

"No one will fire except under my direct order," Pearsall barked. Ten fingers moved outside their trigger cages. Dr. Lecter took the opportunity to move around the table and stand by Clarice.

"Stand still you crazy f—k!" the younger agent yelled. Clarice's eyes went wide as she felt the waves of rage rolling off the man beside her.

"Looks like you were right, Agent Carlyle," Pearsall noted looking at the pair in front of him.

"I told you she was hiding him," Carlyle said. "The probably had the whole escape planned last night." Carlyle was sounding extremely smug, until Pearsall noticed the handcuffs.

"Starling are you cuffed to him?" he asked as if he needed conformation of what he was seeing. Dr. Lecter, however, spoke before she could respond.

"Isn't that usually what one does with a prisoner?" he asked.

"You're Starling's prisoner?" Pearsall asked in some confusion. Dr. Lecter grinned a truly chilling smile.

"No, agent," he hissed, sparks flying in his eyes. "Do you think Clarice would feed me breakfast before turning me in? Guess again agent," he mocked, his hand clamping on to Clarice's wrist. Pearsall's eyes went wide at the implication until Carlyle piped up again.

"Everybody knows she's been f---ing him. That's how I knew he was here. I wonder which one suggested the handcuffs?" Clarice sucked back an insulted gasp, as the grip on her wrist tightened. Pearsall's eyes narrowed as he processed this third interpretation of the situation. Then everyone's attention was on the doctor as he spoke.

"You know nothing more tat the average idiot who reads supermarket trash. It was published more than ten years ago that there was something between Agent Starling and myself. I would hazard to say that you're a little behind with the times. I know that's a fairly common occurrence for you, so don't bother trying to catch up. You've been trying since the day you were born and I hate to tell you that you'll never succeed. You are doomed to struggle a few paces behind your contemporaries for the rest of your life. Your mother kept you back a year in primary school didn't she? You've blamed her over the years, but you knew, deep down inside, that you couldn't make the grade on your own. Tell me agent, do you still call her 'mommy'?" he asked with a sneer.

Clarice shivered as she was reminded of her first conversations with the doctor, in Baltimore, all those years ago. She felt a thumb caress the soft skin of her wrist and was comforted knowing that the doctor was thinking about the same thing. She watched as agent Carlyle tried to stutter out a denial of all the doctor has said. A snicker from one of the guys on the SWAT team snapped him out of his embarrassment and his glare turned nasty.

"The Tattler is going to love it when they find out how we found you two together. Dracula and his bride surprised while engaging in a little bondage," he laughed at his own joke. Behind him, Clarice could see Pearsall deep in thought. The directors would blame him for any bad press that was printed as a result of this arrest. Dr. Lecter spoke again,

"I have never actually drank blood, as Stoker's character is depicted, but I think in your case I might make an exception." Carlyle went decidedly pale at this announcement. The doctor was truly talented, when he could intimidate someone standing behind a ten-man SWAT team. Clarice snapped her attention back to Pearsall when he shifted his weight before speaking.

"The Tattler isn't going to know how we found them," he pronounced. In that moment Clarice felt her stomach drop as she read the intent in his eyes.

"NO!" she screamed, as she spun around. As if in a dance, Clarice spun in towards the doctor until she bumped into his chest with her back, their cuffed hands resting across her abdomen. "I won't let you shoot him down in my kitchen," she clarified. "Put him under arrest to face trial and judgment." Dr. Lecter's arm tightened around her as he realized tat he had become on of her lambs; he was now someone to care for and protect. For a moment, he thought they might actually have a chance until he saw Pearsall close his eyes and nod once to the captain of the SWAT team. 

He tried to turn his body to shield Clarice, but in her determination to save him, he couldn't budge her. She let out a soft cry as the first bullets hit her body. At such close range the cold lead passed through her soft tissues and into the warm body behind her. Dr. Lecter could smell the rusty tang of blood and feel the warmth wash over his hands as he held her. He welcomed the pain as the bullets penetrated his chest and abdomen. They fell backwards together, Dr. Lecter cushioning the fall with his body. Their blood flowed and mingled on the kitchen floor like paint on canvas. In a way, it was just as beautiful. With his last breath, Dr. Lecter whispered the words he'd withheld, for so long, in Clarice's ear. Clarice never heard him. She was dead before they hit the floor.

_________

I'd appreciate some reviews for this… Should it end here? I think so. Thanks luna.


	7. Awake

Yes, well – you all know my sunset syndrome will manifest itself sooner or later…

Add the usual: not mine, don't sue, no money anyway.

___________

Black.

Darkness.

Breathe.

Where?

Ceiling crack.

Ceiling crack?

Ceiling crack!

Clarice sat up with a gasp in her own bed. What a horrible nightmare! Imagine Dr. Lecter showing up after everything that had happened the night before at the lake house. Had he really driven her home? The lines between what had actually occurred and the scenario of her dream were fuzzy. She didn't doubt that the morphine in her system had played a part in her blurred recollections. 

She traced the events from the pig barn in her mind. Waking up in the house, in the dress. Having dinner with Paul. Being kissed in the kitchen. The man who had driven her home. She was fairly sure everything up until that point had actually happened. The phone call from Pearsall? Most likely real. But after that, she must have fallen asleep again. It was no wonder she was having nightmares. Anyone who had been through what she had in the last twenty-four hours would be nuts if they didn't have bad dreams. She thought about jumping between Lecter and the 'firing squad'. Even if it was only a dream, it merited some serious consideration. Our subconscious often speaks most clearly in our dreams. Would she actually sacrifice herself for him? If he was in danger, yes. She had proven that yesterday when she went after him at Verger's estate. She would help any creature that was in need. She had realized that after her encounter with the doctor in Memphis; after she told him about the lambs.

Maybe she should consult a good psychiatrist. She snorted. She was sure she knew someone who would gladly volunteer. His fees, however, would be exorbitant.

She rolled over, to reach for the water on her bedside table, and fetched up solidly, from shoulder to toe, against a warm body.

What the hell? she thought, as an arm reached around her waist to hold her partially on top of the other person in her bed.

"Something you needed, my dear?" he asked.

____________

I don't know if that qualifies as a real cliffie, but at least they're still alive right? Waiting on a certain high priestess to offer her sage advice (or anyone else with any bright ideas for that matter) to this poor directionless writer. Hopefully more soon, luna.


	8. House call

Here's the next installment. Enjoy!

Add the usual: I didn't make these folks up, really I didn't!

__________

"Oh my god! Dr. Lecter!" Clarice gasped in shock. Her outstretched arm came to rest on his chest as she stared down into his eyes, her hair caressing his cheek. He was silent as she tried to process her shock. After the vivid dream she had just awoken from she couldn't place the time or circumstances. Her head was whirling with garbled irrational thoughts. 

Maybe he isn't a criminal and I'm not an FBI agent.

Of course I'm an FBI agent, what else would I be?

That makes him a psychotic mass murderer.

I have a psychotic mass murderer in my bed.

Now the question is does it beat sleeping alone?

Shut up stupid!

What happens now?

Was the lake house a dream?

Was Verger's a dream?

No, shoulder hurts – I was shot!

Paul Krendler? Ummmm…

Oh god, I can't think anymore!

Clarice was panting softly, shaking her head from side to side, and trying to separate incredible fantasy from unbelievable reality in the middle of the dark night. She just couldn't make the last twenty-four hours come straight in her head and she was beginning to panic. Dr. Lecter realized this and brought his other hand to the back of her head, encouraging her to rest it on his chest. To hold her shaking form was delightful, but he knew his continued good health depended on her state of mind in the next few moments.

"Shhhh, Clarice…" he whispered in her ear as he stroked her hair. "You're fine. Talk to me," he entreated.

"I dreamt… I dreamt…" Clarice stuttered as the tears started.

"It's ok. What did you dream? Was it the lambs again?" he asked quietly.

"No." she was sobbing now. "I don't know what was the dream and what was real. I came to get you at Verger's and I was shot… and then I woke up… and Paul …and then you drove me home… and slept on the couch… and then Pearsall fired me… and then you came… and the handcuffs… and you made breakfast… and they were going to shoot you… and I…" she trailed off, unable to tell him what she had done in her dream. The doctor noticed this but didn't push for an answer. There would be time for that later – he hoped. The arm that was wrapped around her waist, shifted until his hand came in contact with her soft side, just below her ribs, where he took a firm grasp and pinched her sharply. She squealed and rolled away from him back to her own side of the bed.

"Do you believe that you are awake now?" he asked sharply, leaning up on his left elbow to look over at her. The sun was almost at the horizon and the predawn light from the window behind him illuminated her features, while they left his in shadow.

"Yes," she hissed rubbing her injured side.

"Good, because I'm going to tell you a little story. Ready? You were shot at Verger's, I brought you home and took the bullet out. We had supper with Mr. Krendler, which you did not partake in but Paul seemed to enjoy very much. You attempted to bash me over the head with a candlestick in the kitchen, which I prevented by clamping your hair in the fridge. You attempted to detain me but, with the police closing in, I had to run. A young officer provided me with my escape route in the form of your escort. I drove you home, brought you inside and tucked you into bed." He paused in his narrative for Clarice to take note of the fact that she had been changed into her pajamas, and although Dr. Lecter was in bed with her, she was under the covers and while he was lying on top still fully clothed.

"I did not sleep on the couch. It's been at least six hours since I've seen a pair of handcuffs. Pearsall hasn't fired you. I will cook breakfast if you like. And nobody is going to shoot me," _yet_ he added silently watching the emotions play over her face as he ticked off the points of her dream on his right hand. As she processed the information he provided for her, her breathing slowed and he could feel her relaxing into the bed.

"Quid pro quo, Clarice," he stated, and immediately felt her tense again.

"What do you want to know?" she asked in a soft but firm voice.

"Tell me the rest of your dream," he prompted. Clarice closed her eyes wondering which would be worse; telling him or refusing.

She felt him shift on the bed, and realized that he was trying to maneuver so that he could catch her if she tried to run. Funny, the thought hadn't even occurred to her. She decided he'd find out one way or another so she took a breath to begin her narrative.

"Wise decision my dear," he murmured, causing her eyes to snap open, which was just what he wanted. He caught her gaze and held it as she told him of the SWAT team and her actions leading up to their deaths.

"That's very interesting Clarice," he commented when she finished. "I believe that I may be able to offer some insight into the state of mind that would provoke such images, but I think that we have company," he stated.

At first Clarice looked confused until she realized someone was in the hall. For an instant, she feared that her dream was about to become reality until she heard an all too familiar voice call out to her,

"Clarice? It's Jack."

__________

Next bit soon, promise, luna.


	9. Sacrifices

Well, this is starting to get slightly fun… prolly two more chpts after this one.

Add the usual: I wonder if I can take out a patent instead of a copyright?

____________

Clarice cursed softly under her breath. Of all the people who could show up now, it would have to be Jack Crawford who was in her hallway. How the hell had he gotten in anyway?

"Clarice? Have you been for your run yet?" She could tell he was moving away from them towards the kitchen. Her one thought was that she had to get Dr. Lecter out of the house as soon as possible.

She rolled over just as the doctor was leaning over to speak to her and the two of them came together chest to chest. Dr. Lecter grinned as his right arm snaked around her waist holding her in place. Clarice squirmed against his hold and inwardly the doctor struggled to maintain his outward calm. She was so warm and alive. He stroked curve of her back through the material of her t-shirt and decided that he needed to buy her some silk nighties. She could see the mischief twinkling in his bright blue eyes, now that the sun was up, and the expression reminded her of a little boy.

"Clarice?" Jack could now be heard in the kitchen, which gave Dr. Lecter a wonderful idea.

"What do you think old Jackie boy will do when he finds us…" he whispered in Clarice's ear. "…like this?" he finished as he started to roll her over onto her back under him. Clarice's eyes went wide in shock and her hands came up to his chest, trying to push him off her. Her hands fisted the soft material of his white dress shirt, causing another button to pop open, revealing more of the salt and pepper that covered his chest. He rolled back with her push, but brought her with him, so that she was once again resting partially on top of him. She braced her palms on his chest and scowled down at him.

"On top, my dear?" he questioned with sparkling eyes. Her cheeks blushed rosy at his off-colour comment and she decided that he was enjoying himself far too much.

"You have to get out of here now!" she hissed under her breath.

"Worried about me?" he asked with a small smile.

"No, I'm worried about Jack!" she answered in all honesty, as she scrambled over him to get out of bed. She grabbed her housecoat and whispered,

"Go! Quickly!" before she pulled the bedroom door to.

Dr. Lecter was out of bed instantly, straightening his clothes but he paused at the doorjamb to listen to their conversation. Between the two of them, they might have a decent chance of apprehending him, simply because he wouldn't hurt her. Jack on the other hand was another matter entirely. Lecter smiled as he recalled the dream she had just confessed to him. He was almost sure she wouldn't say anything to Jack about her visitor. Then again, he never could predict her.

___________

"Jack?" Clarice mumbled sleepily as she made her way down the hall to the kitchen. Crawford turned to face her when she entered.

"Oh, Clarice. I'm sorry. Did I wake you?" Crawford looked like a puppy that knew it was in for a scolding.

"It's all right Jack," Clarice lied. "What did you want? And how did you get in?" she asked as she leaned against the counter opposite the door, forcing Crawford to put his back to the entrance if he wanted to face her.

"I just came to check on you," he replied. "Ardelia told me about the key you keep under the flower pot on the porch. I heard what happened and…" he trailed off not sure what else to say. He'd retired eight months before, but still had contacts in the bureau that kept him up to date. Clarice made a mental note to bring the spare key indoors.

"And what Jack? Do you want to hear about all the gory details?" Clarice was getting annoyed with the man. He had once been her mentor, until she realized how ineffectual he chose to be in matters involving her career.

"No Clarice, I guess I wanted to apologize for ever getting you involved in this in the first place," he confessed. Clarice didn't tell him it was probably one of the only good things he had ever done for her. She wondered if Dr. Lecter was out of the house yet.

"We both know that if you had to do it all over again, you would do the same thing," she told him. He just shrugged, not wanting to acknowledge the truth of her statement. Clarice heard a voice in her head,

"Sometimes, Clarice, silence is more telling than words." She had to hold back the laughter this thought provoked. Why was life so much more fun when he was around?

Into the silence came a thud, as if a book had been dropped on the floor. Jack spun to the doorway, intent on finding out what had made the noise. Clarice knew, and she also knew it had been no accident. Nothing was ever an accident around that man!

"Jack, please," she entreated, holding out her hand to him. He turned back to face her, and she could see a shadow moving in the hall over his shoulder. Why didn't he just go out the front door?

"I don't blame you for any of this," she told him, which was true for the most part. "Please," she said again, as he made to turn towards the door. Damn him for forcing her to do this! "I've been so alone for so long, please," she said once more holding her arms up. Crawford moved swiftly to her side, taking her in his arms.

"Shhhh…" he whispered as he smoothed her hair, "it's going to be ok. I'm here now." Clarice tried to hold back a snort. To Crawford it sounded like a sob, and he held her tighter. Something else crashed in the hall, and it was all Clarice could do not to swear.

"What was that?" Crawford asked, turning toward the door.

"The cat," Clarice said in a rush.

"When did you get a cat?" Crawford asked. Clarice made the conscious decision to take drastic action. She put her hand up to Crawford's cheek and guided his head down to hers. She kissed him lightly, which was all the incentive he needed to take control. She found the cloying scent of his aftershave nauseous. There was a rough spot on his cheek where he'd missed while shaving.

"Oh, Clarice…" he murmured as he took a breath, before he lowered his head to hers once more. He had completely forgotten about the cat, and the strange noises, to his detriment.

From behind him, a cold voice spoke,

"Savor the moment Jack. That was a once in a life time experience."

________

Hehe… you think Jack's in trouble? luna.


	10. Reprecussions

Well, this was fun – hope you enjoy it.

Add the usual – not mine, wish they were.

__________

Dr. Lecter expected to meet Jack in the hallway. When Crawford didn't appear, he moved silently into the kitchen doorway. Seeing Clarice enfolded in Jack's arms, unleashed within the doctor a moment of blind rage. With no outward sign the doctor managed to slam the door closed on his powerful emotions, becoming once again the detached psychiatrist of world renoun. He noted with calm the greedy clutch of Jack's hands on Clarice's back, but he couldn't prevent a silent sigh of relief when he noticed Clarice's white knuckles clenched on te counter top behind her. And yet she wasn't pushing Crawford away. In an instant he understood the nature of the conversation preceeding this little tableau. His course of action was decided in half that amount of time; he would deal with each accordingly.

_________

It took Jack's bemused mind a moment to place the cold voice at his shoulder in the proper schema. On the heels of realizing who was standing behind him, the import behind the words came crashing through his fogged brain. These combined thoughts caused him to pull away from Clarice as his staomach bounced into his throat. Clarice thought he looked like he was going to have a heart attack. Jack misinterpreted the look of concern in her eyes as fear, He wasn't sure he could get both of them out of this unscathed.

He paused looking down at her, as if counting to three, and then he spun to face Lecter. The doctor, easily anticipating Jack's actions, caught Crawford's ankle with his own. Jack went sprawling on the kitchen floor, his head narrowly missing the counter of the island.

"Mr. Crawford!" Clarice cried out.

"That's a little formal for someone you were just – how would you say? – frenching?" Dr. Lecter commented in his best dungeon voice. Clarice met his gaze, her confusion apparent in her eyes. Gone was the caring, teasing man she had woken up with; in his place was the controled persona from asylum interviews. Which was the real man? Or was it all part of the whole?

He reached out lightening fast and the next thing she knew she was plastered to his side, her wrists held immobile at the small of her back in his left hand. She met hhis gaze but could read nothing in his eyes.

"Did you call all your sticky fumblings 'Mr. So-n-so'?" he whispered in her ear, pausing to nuzzle her neck. She tried to control anger; if she could have hit him she would have. Her struggles to free her hands only resulted in being held more securly to his side. He smiled, a sight that made her shiver and Jack cringe. Jack could tell Lecter was enjoying her struggles – who wouldn't enjoy being snuggled up to that georgous body?

A flash of sunlight drew Crawford's attention to the knife in Lecter's hand. Crawford moved to get up, but stopped when the knife flashed in front of Starling's face.

"Careful Jack, we wouldn't want to cause an accident now would we?" Dr. Lecter warned. Clarice quit struggling for the moment and Lecter met her gaze. He was accutely aware of his thigh nestled between hers under her robe. The robe, however, was blocking Jack's view of the situation.

"Let's see what she has to offer, eh Jackie-boy?" Dr. Lecter said as the knife flashed at her waist cutting the sash. He grabbed her collar and pulled it down her back, entagling her arms. He enjoyed the feel of her hair on the back of his hand.

Jack understood that Lecter was just trying to taunt him by using Starling, but even so he couldn't help looking at her long legs below her boxer shorts. He'd always been a leg man. Bella had had nice legs, but Starling's ankles were something else.

"What would you like Jack? A thigh maybe?"Dr. Lecter shifted his weight and Clarice felt the brush of his pantleg on the inside of her thighs. Involuntarily she clenched her thighs together trapping the doctor's leg between. In response he hummed low in his throat,

"No, I think I'll keep those for myself. What about a shoulder Jack?" he asked again as the harpy flashed again at the shoulder seam of Clarice's t-shirt. Clarice felt like she was a cooked chicken with two little boys arguing over the drumsticks. The similie was frightening for different reasons. When the creamy flesh of her shoulder was exposed, the doctor rand the backside of his knife across her collar bone and over her shoulder. Clarice shivered in response and had to hold back a sigh when the doctor spoke again.

"Have you ever wondered what she tastes like, Jack? I know I have." Jack gasped as he saw Lecter bend his head to Clarice's shoulder. The surveillence video of Lecter attacking the nurse flashed in his mind, and all he could thing was thank God it wasn't her face. When Clarice cried out and turned her head away, Jack bounded to his feet and rushed forward. Dr. Lecter's head came up as he reached out with his right hand. Jack managed to jump back just in time, but a thin crimson line stained the shoulder of his slashed shirt.

"She's mine, Jack," Dr. Lecter said in a low voice. "She has been since you sent her to me – to do with as I wish." Jack's gaze moved to the livid red mark on Clarice's shoulder. She struggled against the robe again and Lecter whispered something in her ear. She quit struggling and her hair hid her eyes.

"If you harm her, Lecter…" Jack threatened holding his shoulder.

"You'll what Jack?" Lecter asked with a caulked eyebrow. "You never could catch me, and I promise you'll never find Clarice."

"You can't take her!" Jack yelled. What had the monster said to her? She'd just quit fighting.

"Can't I?" Lecter asked with a small smile.

"No!" Jack shouted, tensing as if to move forward.

"Alright Jackie-boy," Dr. Lecter hissed, forestalling Crawford's lethat decision. "I'll make you a deal. You do something for me and I'll do something for you." Dr. Lecter tossed him a pair of hand cuffs. Jack caught them reflexively. Clarice's head snapped up and she gazed at the doctor. He struggled not to laugh at the look on her face. He turned back to Jack,

"Now open the cupboard under the sink and cuff yourself to the water pipe. That's right, just pull the garbage can out." When Jack was securely cuffed, Dr. Lecter turned his full attention back to Clarice.

"Now for you, my dear," he said as he pulled the sash out of her robe and bent down to tie her feet. Clarice suddenly seemed to come back to life. Her leg flashed out in a kick that should have sent him flying backward. Instead, she found her ankle held fast against his chest.

"I'm starting to wonder if Anthrax island wasn't your idea after all. You seen to have trouble sticking to your word, Clarice," the doctor commented looking up at her, just as he had the night before. He jerked her foot sharply sending her down hard on her backside. She cried out as she hit the linolium of the kitchen floor. Jack, who souldn't really see what was going on with his head in the cupboard, swore at Lecter,

"God dammit Lecter! You promised!"

"Actuall, Jack, I didn't promise anything," the doctor responded calmly as he sliced strips off the bottom of Clarice's robe and trussed her up like a roast of beef. He grabbed her elbows to assist her to her feet. He bent his shoulder to her stomach and the next thing she knew she was hanging upside down like a sack of potatoes, with his left arm behind her knees.

Dr. Lecter stepped over to where Jack would have an unobstructed view of this latest development. When Jack saw Clarice slung over Lecter's shoulder he reacted to the primative imagery, just as the doctor knew he would. He strained against the cuffs and his face went three shades of red. Clarice squirmed attempting to get loose,

"Dr. Lecter put me down!"

"Demanding little hussy aren't you?" he chuckled. "You'll be begging before I'm done with you. In fact I think I'd like to hear you scream before the end."

"God no!" Jack yelled at this pronouncement. Clarice squirmed furiously, but the doctor merely tossed her in the air, knocking the wind and the fight out of her when she landed on his shoulder again.

"You said you'd make me a deal!" Jack called from under the sink.

"Ah, now there you are correct," the doctor replied. "You see, Jackie-boy, she's mine and if I can't have her no one can. The intimate little scene I walked in on proved something to me, and there's no undoing it now," Lecter explained as he moved towards the patio door. "You held up your end of the bargain like a good boy, and I'm in a generous mood so I promise I'll hold to my end." Dr. Lecter met Jack's gaze once more over Clarice's shapely backside.

"I won't forget to send you a doggy bag." The doctor enjoyed the tormented cry of rage that followed them out onto the patio. Lecter decided that leaving Jack alive like this was even better than killing him. Crawford would wonder for the rest of his days. Now, he just had to deal with Clarice he thought as he enjoyed her warm weight on his shoulder. He admitted that he found her position rather satisfying even if it wasn't at all gentlemanly. He inhaled deeply and was supprised when he caught her scent. So she liked it a little rough, did she?

"Mmm," he purred, this was going to be fun.


	11. C'est fini

Clarice watched the ground pass beneath Dr. Lecter's feet as she listened to the enraged bellows of Mr. Crawford coming from her house. She was struck by how ridiculous the whole situation was and wondered if she was dreaming again. The pain in her stomach told her otherwise. She knew she would have bruises, if she survived the rest of the day.

Why had Dr. Lecter made such a production of carting her off? Her emotions were always in such a turmoil around the man. She had to admit that her current position made her feel rather warm in certain places. No man had ever swept her off her feet before; she'd always had them down on the mat before they could try. Dr. Lecter, however was another matter entirely. She felt vulnerable, slightly off-balance and very much like a woman whenever he was around. All these feelings were forbidden to her by her abusive mate, the FBI. She was contemplating his motivations behind this new game they were playing, when her world righted itself and she found herself sitting in the back of a windowless van. She groaned aloud as she realized it was the van she had spotted sitting outside her house for the previous week. She had thought it was FBI surveillance. She could still hear Mr. Crawford, from across the street, but his cries had deteriorated to loud sobs.

"I don't think Jack approves of my new plan," Dr. Lecter commented with a viscous grin. Clarice finally found her rage.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" she hissed at him.

"I'm kidnapping you," the doctor said matter-of-factly.

"And Mr. Crawford thinks you're going to slice and dice me, and then chow down with a nice red wine. What's going to happen when you tire of your latest little game? You won't be able to turn me loose without your reputation suffering a blow," Clarice's voice was scathing as she uttered the last. She had definitely learned her lessons well.

"Who says I'm playing a game?" Dr. Lecter asked deadly quiet, as he climbed into the van with her and shut the door. Clarice ignored him.

"End this now Doctor. Turn me loose, and I'll say I managed to get away, but I couldn't apprehend you. You could be almost anywhere by the end of today…" She stopped abruptly when she saw the Harpy appear in his hand.

"You're not listening special agent," his face was inches from hers. The fact that she was consciously willing to sacrifice her career to ensure his freedom sealed her fate.

"I'm not playing any games. I was deadly serious when I told Jack that he would never find you. Were you listening to anything I said in there, or were you to busy trying to incapacitate me to pay attention?" he snarled at her. Clarice shivered. What had he said that was significant to their present situation?

"You said that I was yours and that if you couldn't have me no one could," she paraphrased. Her eyes went wide with fear as she realized what was going on. Lecter had walked in on her kissing Mr. Crawford. For once in his life, he'd misunderstood what was going on and now she was going to pay the ultimate price. She couldn't believe it had come down to this. She was going to die because he was jealous. She had made men jealous since she was sixteen, and she'd always been the one to pay the price. Her career, her safety, her very sense of self had all been forfeit because of jealous men. Now her life would be added to the weighty list. She'd had enough of egotistical men and their petty motivations. She wouldn't let them win without a fight.

"I always thought you were different from the rest of the male populace," she said her eyes as hard as ice. "I see I was wrong once again; you're just like the rest of them. You see a pretty face and a nice body and you want it. When you find out you can't have it, you throw a little temper tantrum, and I end up being punished for it. Paul Krendler did it with my career and now you're going to do the same, only it's my life that's forfeited this time. Well, screw you! For all your high ideals about rude people, you're no different than the Paul Krendlers of this world!" she was screaming by the end of this. She noticed a slight flare of the doctor's nostrils when she threw him in the same category as Paul, but she wasn't going to back down. Everything she had was in the pot, and she was more than willing to throw her cards on the table.

"That's a little harsh, don't you think, my dear?" he said in a voice so low she almost didn't catch the words. His face was a mask of calm, but she knew he was angry - very angry.

"I am most certainly not like the Paul Krendlers of this world," he said as his harpy flashed out. For a moment, Clarice thought it was over, until she realized that he was cutting her bonds. Not smart doc, she thought.

"When he couldn't fuck you in bed, he decided to fuck you by squashing your career. But, Clarice, I've been places he never even dreamed of," she trembled when he hissed her name right beside her ear. "I've been inside your mind, and that is the most intimate exchange possible between two people." The only tie remaining was the one around her wrists. She presented her back to him hoping he would cut that too.

"Well, I'm glad you enjoyed yourself, doctor," she snapped at him.

"Don't even pretend that you didn't enjoy it too, Clarice. I could smell it on you! I was the best you ever had," he snarled at her.

"You're just pissed that I kissed Crawford willingly, but you needed to clamp my hair in a refrigerator to get me to hold still," she threw back over her shoulder. She could feel him slicing through the terry towel at her wrists. Another few seconds and she could take him down.

"What I said to Jackie-boy was you were mine to do with as I pleased," he snarled as he freed her wrists. Before she could move, he manhandled her down to the floor of the van and pinned her arms above her head.

"Which means I can kiss you any time I bloody well want!" he growled before his lips descended on hers in a kiss that left her panting beneath him.

"Now do you understand?" he asked. "Let me clarify so there's no more misunderstanding. Yes I want your body, but I also want your mind and your soul. I bartered for your mind, and I've taken your body by force, but only you can give me your soul." The fire in his eyes scared Clarice, as she had never been before.

"What kind of devil are you?" she whispered. His gaze softened when he realized he was frightening her. "One who accidentally fell in love with an avenging angel," he whispered to her as he nuzzled her neck. "And one who thinks that his avenging angel has taken him under her wing to try to protect him."

Suddenly she understood what he knew. Her dream and her actions back at the house. Somewhere along the way he'd become someone who cared for her, therefore, she cared back. He was a lamb to be protected. As if reading her thoughts, he spoke,

"I'm no lamb Clarice. You of all people should know that. I'm an old wolf, who could turn on you at some point, but I'm inviting you to come run with me."

Clarice understood the mistake she had made in thinking of him as a lamb. Part of the show back in her kitchen had been for her benefit. She also understood why he was attracted to her. She knew and accepted him for who and what he was. What other person in the world could say the same?

"I think I'd like running with you better than chasing you," she said calmly. He smiled down at her.

"Mmmm," he assented, "but who was chasing who?" he questioned with a wink, as he rolled to his feet and started the van.

_____________

Clarice cried out as the sharp steel sliced through her tender flesh.

The knife clattered to the floor as Hannibal called out her name.

"Clarice!?!"

"I'm fine," she called back as she rummaged under the sink for a rag to wrap around her hand. She was getting blood all over the clean tile of the kitchen in their home in Paris, France. She grabbed a soft cloth, wrapped it around the palm of her hand a couple of times and then grabbed the dishrag to wipe up the floor.

"Drop it!" the rough command came from behind her. Before she knew what was happening she was seated on the kitchen counter, her injured hand cradled in Hannibal's large warm ones.

"I warned you that I sharpened the knives this morning! You should use a cutting board to slice buns, not your hand," he chastised her as he unwrapped her hand. To this day, the smell of her blood made him extremely angry. Every atom of her being was precious to him and he was forever trying to get to her to take better care of herself. He sized up the damage with his surgeon's eye and concluded that she didn't need stitches. He closed the cut with a couple of small butterflies. He banished her from the kitchen and administered a sharp smack to her backside to hurry her on her way. The look she fired back over her shoulder at him, promised retribution the he looked forward to immensely.

He was smiling as he cleaned up the mess in the kitchen, until he recognized the blood soaked rag Clarice had wrapped around her hand. It was the sliced t-shirt she had been wearing when she had decided to come to Europe with him. He remembered a promise made about six months earlier and his smile widened into a full-fledged grin.

_______________

When Crawford received the package from the Las Vegas remailing service, he had to sit for an hour before he could open it. When he finally did, he found a styrofoam container; the kind restaurants put leftovers in. Written on the top, in black jiffy marker, were the words,

__

Jack,

I never forget a promise.

H.

PS. She called out to God before the end.

It took him another fifteen minutes before he could open the container. He choked on his own bile when he recognized the blood stained t-shirt. It was the same one Clarice had been wearing the last time he saw her.

DNA testing confirmed that the blood was Clarice Starling's. The FBI agent's career file was added to the continuing case file of Hannibal Lecter as his latest victim.

No one noticed the add in the personal column of the Tribune:

__

Shepherd: This sheep dog is happy running with the wolf. Don't believe everything you read.

****

Le Fin


End file.
